A Battle of Wits
by gomababe
Summary: What does France have to say to an uninvited and very much unwanted guest in his friend's house?


A/N: This fic takes place in the late 1740s, not long after the Battle of Culloden. This is mostly about a battle of wits between England and France. Personally I wanted to see more of France in badass mode, because he isn't always a coward.

...

England glared at the man that had opened the door to the large manor house, his hand automatically making its way to his sword,

"What the bloody hell are you doing here you frog?" he asked curtly, "I told you you were no longer wanted on my land." France mirrored the glare with surprising ferocity,

"Your land?" he repeated with a bitter laugh, "Well that explains everything."England continued to glare at the other nation,

"What in the blazes are you talking about?" he asked, "If you have something to tell me then speak up man!" he demanded. France's glare deepened,

"If you do not know what I mean, then you might as well leave. It's not like you'll care!" he snapped, causing England to back off just a little before standing his ground again,

"This is getting me nowhere." He growled, "I need to talk to Scotland, "I'm assuming he got my letter and has decided to ignore it." He explained, "Now if you don't get out of my way..." he threatened, laying his hand on his sword. France snorted and stood aside,

"Very well then, you can see your brother if you so wish. But I warn you L'Angleterre, I am not in the best of moods myself. If you so much as lay another finger on him, you will 'ave your throat slit faster than you can say En Garde." He growled. England raised an enquiring eyebrow at that,

"My, my, in quite the protective mood aren't we?" he sneered as he glided up the stairs, France following at his heels.

When England finally reached the door to his brother's room he stormed right through it, ignoring France's protests,

"Scotland! What is the meaning of ignoring the summons of the King?" he demanded, noticing only that the man in question seemed to be asleep. The lump under the cover stirred and groaned before Scotland finally sat up and looked at the man who had woken him,

"Summons o' the King?" he asked tiredly, his face confused, "Whit summons?" England growled in irritation, but refrained from physically accosting the man in front of him, well aware of the French nation just behind him, "The summons that were sent two months ago, you idiot!" he settled for snapping instead. France pushed past England, sending him a sharp glare, while Scotland continued to look blankly at the man who had barged into his room,

"It's alright Angus, Arthur does not seem to think letters are capable of becoming lost." He cooed as he sat down on the bed next to the Scotsman. England bristled,

"And who said we were on first name terms you bloody frog?" he demanded. France glared at England again, made sure his friend was comfortable and then marched over to England again and dragged him out of the room, pushing him against a far wall,

"_Idiot!_" he snapped, "Can you not see that your brother is ill?" France's hair fell into his face as he spoke. England snorted,

"Probably putting it on to garner sympathy." He said, "It wouldn't be the first time." He smirked at the other blonde; clearly, in his mind, his interpretation was the correct one. France glared up at England acidly,

"I can assure you that L'Eccose is not putting his illness on." He growled threateningly, tightening his grip on England's shirt, "Then again I did not expect you to care about that, so why bother telling you what is going on?" he let England drop to the floor. England rubbed at his throat, France was in a touchy mood today. He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity peaked,

"Well since you've brought it up, do you mind explaining to me why you think Scotland is not putting his illness on?" he asked smoothly, "Take as long as you like, I have all day." The English nation sat down on a nearby chair just to prove his point. France turned on his heel and stood next to the door, crossing his arms over his chest,

"I ask again why you would even want to know?" he retorted, turning to face England again. England chuckled,

"Mostly out of curiosity, but also because it serves my interests." He replied calmly, "If my dear oldest brother is indeed as sick as you say then it is in my interests to ensure that it does not interfere with the running of the Empire."

"And if it does?" France asked, his tone icy. He did not like what England seemed to be implying. England looked at his nails,

"Then we shall have to... ah... sort the problem out." He replied, looking back up to France an impassive look on his face that changed into the characteristic smirk the nation had become so famous for just a century ago. While France fumed silently at the confirmation of his gut feeling England stood, walking over to the other man,

"Tell me France... why do you insist on meddling in the affairs of the Kingdom?" he asked smoothly, trailing his fingers along the wall as he walked, "Surely it does not serve either you directly or your own Empire to become so emeshed in the internal affairs of another country?" France narrowed his eyes once again,

"Because L'Angleterre, L'Ecosse and I are still good friends, despite what may 'ave 'appened in the past. Not that you would understand the concept." He spat. England further closed the gap between them, leering at the French nation,

"Is that all? I was under the impression that it was more than merely friendship with you two." He replied silkily, "Even if that is the case, I will have to ask you to leave." He said quietly, his face inches away from France's, "Because if you don't, frog, you might just find yourself on the receiving end of another Hundred Year's War. Do I make myself clear?" he asked, flicking out a small penknife he'd had hidden in his sleeve. France scowled at him,

"I will not leave." He growled, "Not while you are still 'ere to 'arrass L'Ecosse in his current state." England backed off again with a snort,

"Stubborn aren't we?" he noted, "Very well, France, have it your way, but I would advise you to watch your back from now on." He threatened, turning on his heel and walking to the front door. France watched the other nation leave, the scowl never leaving his face. It was probably for the best that England didn't know what was happening to his oldest brother. The monster might just help speed the process up just so it was over and done with. France shook his head with a sigh as he went back into the bedroom to make sure his friend was alright.

A/N: Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what's going on? Reviews always appreciated


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